


Requiem

by snasational



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blindfolds, Dusttale Papyrus (Undertale), Dusttale Sans (Undertale), Fluff and Smut, Horrortale Sans (Undertale), M/M, Nipple Play, Oral Fixation, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snasational/pseuds/snasational
Summary: Dust needs to get his mind off of things. Horror is there to lend a helping hand.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 111





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [armethaumaturgy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/gifts).



> Working on this was so much fun!!! Writing Dust was something I never thought I'd do, but now that I have I've fallen in love with him. I hope you enjoy this!

Having strange dreams isn’t anything unusual for Dust.

He’s done terrible things, and despite the fact that he normally isn’t remorseful to his actions his dreams have a habit of sneaking up on him. It starts off the same as it always does; he’s in Snowdin. The town is quiet, not a person in sight. Perhaps that can be blamed because of the dust that breezes through the air.

Not even Chara was this brutal in their genocide. But Dust couldn’t afford to leave a single soul left alive. He doesn’t remember why, really, but he does know that everyone must die by his hands. Is it the power? The LOVE? Dust had never felt so alive, back when he reigned terror in his world. 

However, in his dreams, there is always one monster left standing. 

At the end of a snowy field stands a young Papyrus. The skeleton cannot be any older than eight or nine, his bones small and his features soft and round. He’s wearing a striped sweater that Dust made him for his birthday, and that signature red scarf is wrapped loosely around his neck. On his feet, he wears a pair of rainboots that have faded rubber duckies printed on them. Dust remembers how excited he was when he pulled them from the dumps.

This childish version of his brother is always staring up at the mountain’s ceiling, black eye sockets trained away from his brother. He looks at peace, almost. Like he knows what’s about to happen. Papyrus has always been stronger than life, fearing not even that of inevitability, and if he wanted to he could stop this. Even as a babybones. 

But he doesn’t. He didn’t in real life either. 

“Sans.” Papyrus greets him calmly in a high pitched voice. Dust has not been Sans in a very long time, but it seems like his conscious forgets that at night. “Why are you doing this?” 

Dust does not respond. Papyrus smiles sadly. It’s a look that’s much too melancholic on such an innocent face. “You’re no better than him. But I still love you, okay? Even if you kill me over and over again, you’re still my big brother.”

Dust closes his eyes. During his waking hours, he does not feel guilt. But here, it hits him like a bullet. It’s cruel of his mind to conjure up the image of the child that he raised. Perhaps it would be easier to handle, if it were the Papyrus he had killed. He had taught this one how to read and count. He had tied his shoes in the mornings before school, and fed him dinner and tucked him into bed. 

“I’m sorry.” Dust says. This is one of the rare instances where he means it. When he opens his eyes again, he’s greeted by a pile of dust. He stares at it for a long moment before he stumbles and collapses onto his knees in front of the remains of his baby brother. Sometimes in the dream, he cries. Other times, he screams and grabs handfuls of his brother’s dust and throws it everywhere. 

But tonight, he simply stares. And then, very quietly, he begins to mumble the words to Peek-a-Boo with Fluffy Bunny, because Papyrus can’t sleep well without a bedtime story. What kind of brother would he be, if he allowed him to suffer through a restless sleep? Every word to that book is carved into his head like a punishment, and he recites it with ease. 

When he wakes up, Not-Papyrus is staring at him with a displeased look. As he always does, when he has the sorts of dreams. “ **Don’t expect any sympathy from me.** **_You’re_ ** **the one who decided to up and murder all of our friends** .” 

He offers no comeback. Talking to Not-Papyrus always makes him feel strange. In the waking world, he is not supposed to feel anything other than his normal sadistic emotions. If he actually begins to truly acknowledge him, he’d also have to acknowledge a load of other things he has no desire to touch.

It is selfish. But he doesn’t care.

(At least, that’s what he tells himself.)

Dust rolls out of his bed with. An old clock hanging up in his room tells him that it’s two in the morning. There’s no telling who might be awake right now, and normally he tries to avoid awkward late night run-ins. However, he drank the last of his whiskey last night and needs a new bottle. 

It should be quick. Hopefully, no one else is in the kitchen. He begins to walk out of his room and Not-Papyrus follows along. 

“ **It’s really pathetic, you know.** ” Not-Papyrus says. “ **How you walk around and pretend to be some macho tough guy. But we both know you’re not. Is this your way of ignoring your sins, my dear brother?** ”

He’s not ignoring anything. Why waste energy on things that happened in the past? Dust resists the urge to roll his eyes as he keeps walking. Dust can tell that It’s going to be one of those nights where Not-Papyrus is super chatty. Those are always the worst, because he knows which weak spots to hit like no other. Not even Nightmare is as ruthless and mean as his conjured brother. 

Unfortunately for him, the lights in the kitchen are on. And,  _ double  _ unfortunately, it’s Horror that stands at a counter. He’s baking something, which isn’t unusual. It’s got cinnamon in it, for sure, and there’s peachy undertones. This must be a new recipe. Normally Dust would be stoked about this, but tonight he wants to drink himself into a stupor and sleep the sleep of the dead. 

He can’t tiptoe away because Horror has crazy good instincts. There’s no doubt that the big guy already heard him come in, even if Dust made not a single noise. He’s the hunter of the group for a reason, much more akin to a hound dog than a skeleton. 

“It’s late.” Horror points out. He doesn’t look away from whatever he’s preparing. 

Dust shrugs. In order to get to the liquor cabinet, he’s going to need to walk past him so either way, a conversation was inevitable. Horror isn’t nosy like Killer is, but on the same coin he’s probably as judgemental as Cross. There will definitely be a comment about the alcohol, even though Dust has been an adult for almost twenty years now. 

“Yeah, it is.” Dust agrees. “Ain’t that something?”

“ **You are so rude.** ” Not-Papyrus reprimands. “ **He was just making small talk. Why must you be a dick about everything?** ” 

Horror pauses and finally looks at him. His expression is blank and seemingly thoughtless, as always. Dust supposes being starved and kept half alive for eight years will do that to a person. And that large hole in his head probably doesn’t help his expressions too much either. But despite looking like he’s braindead, Dust is well aware of how intelligent he actually is. 

After all, if he were nothing more than a mindless killer, he wouldn’t be baking at two in the fucking morning. 

“...Is something the matter?” Horror asks after a moment of silence. 

“I’m peachy.” Dust waves him off. He strides past him and tries to ignore the way that red eye follows him. It’s unnatural, an actual eye as opposed to an eye light. He doesn’t want to know how or why Horror uses it as a replacement. It is rather fascinating how it managed to stay preserved in his eye socket, though. 

“ **Many things are ‘the matter’ with him.** ” Not-Papyrus snorts. “ **He’s very fucked in the head** .” 

Ugh. He should see about calling an exorcist one of these days. 

“Hm.” Horror turns his attention back to the pastry he’s working on. “You’re a worse liar than Error is.”

That’s hardly true. Error’s voice glitches out when he lies. Dust likes to think that he’s an excellent actor, thank you very much. “And what do I gain from lying, mister I Know Everything?” Dust mocks as he opens the cabinet. He eyes the selection of alcohol. 

“You tell me.” Horror shoots back. Impressive, he replied a lot quicker than he normally does. Nightmare will be pleased to know that Horror’s communication is improving. 

Not-Papyrus moves directly in front of the liquor cabinet, blocking his view. Dust makes an annoyed noise, irritation flaring. He glares at Not-Papyrus, and it’s the closest thing to a reaction the spirit has gotten in a long time. Not-Papyrus grins smugly. If he had a body, his arms would be crossed and his hip would jut out in that sassy manner that always used to amuse him.

Nowadays it would probably anger Dust. His LOVE makes his temperament awful at times. 

Horror gives him another look. Dust clenches his teeth. This is what Not-Papyrus wants. Acknowledgement. Screw him. He turns on his heel and goes to stand by Horror. Not-Papyrus won’t get under his theoretical skin, not tonight. Dust simply won’t allow it. 

“Whatcha making?” 

Horror blinks slowly at him for a second. “Filling for peach cobbler.” 

“Peach cobbler? Never heard of it.” Well, he’s not going to lie. It does sound pretty appetizing. But that’s not what he wants from Horror right now. “Hey, how long does it take to make?” 

“A while.”

Dust huffs. Horror is always making these stupidly complicated recipes. “Can you put it down for a bit?”

He presses himself into Horror’s side, close enough to where there’s no way Horror can miss his intentions. The big guy looks at him contemplatively. He hates that look. Dust wants to be fucked, not psychoanalyzed. 

“Is that what you need?” 

Not-Papyrus makes a gagging sound. “ **You’re such a pervert. Why are you always trying to have sex? It doesn’t make me go away** .” 

No, but it certainly drowns you out. 

“Yes.” 

He looks at his peach filling for a moment and then pries himself from Dust’s hold to put it in the fridge. Horror is never one to let food go to waste or ruin, and he also never leaves a mess. He’s tedious in the kitchen because Nightmare’s bitching gives him headaches. Dust nearly fell out of his chair with laughter when Horror told him this. 

“My room.” Horror insists. Dust is okay with that, Horror has the best bed. It’s large to accommodate his frame, and the mattress is memory foam. He doesn’t even know where Horror got it, because Nightmare only provided standard mattresses. Either way, sleeping in his bed is always a treat. 

“ **You know what I’ve always wondered?”** Not-Papyrus breaks their silent trek to Horror’s bedroom. “ **If he knows what you did. He always talks about his Papyrus so fondly. Visits him often, too. I’m certainly jealous!** ” 

Nobody but Nightmare and Error knows about his timeline. Although, the others have definitely made close guesses. High LV doesn’t come for free. 

“ **I bet he wouldn’t be so willing to fuck you if he knew that you killed your own brother** .” Not-Papyrus laughs. “ **You’d certainly deserve his scorn.** ”

“Will you shut up!” Dust finally snarls, snapping his head to look at Not-Papyrus. The conjuration blinks, and then laughs again. 

“ **Now he’s** **_really_ ** **going to think you’re crazy!”** He cackles with glee. 

Dust goes tense as a board, but Horror never stops walking. “They’re loud for me too, sometimes.” He says.

Dust frowns. “What?”

“My sins.”

Unlike Dust, Horror’s timeline is hardly a secret. They had all been there, when they first scouted him out. And the atrocities that had been committed in that world in the name of hunger even made Nightmare a bit discomfited. Insanity came at Dust quick and seamlessly, but for Horror it was a slow and painful process that was brought forth by starvation and desperation. 

His permanent injury did nothing to aid Horror’s plight into derangement. But, unlike everyone else, each day he gets a little bit better. There’s always going to be something dark about him, but other than that he’s up there with Cross in the do gooder department. Horror doesn’t hurt unless he has to, and Dust takes comfort in others pain. 

But he definitely did things not even Dust was capable of, back in the peak of his insanity. Of course he has sins crawling up his back. He just never knew they manifested into voices. He doesn’t think it’s quite the same as Not-Papyrus, but even so knowing they share something like that in common…

It makes his soul feel lighter than it has in years. 

“ **I bet his voices aren’t his dead brother** .” 

He’s so, so tired. 

“...Yeah. Uh, my bad. They get really... _ annoying _ .” He gives Not-Papyrus a pointed look. 

Horror nods like he understands completely. Nobody says anything again until they're in his room, and Dust is sprawled out beneath him on that cozy mattress of his. He sleeps shirtless, so the only thing keeping Horror from feasting upon his bare form is his basketball shorts. Horror pulls them off slowly, pace unhurried and leisurely. 

Unless riled up, that’s how Horror always is. Dust loves it so much. 

“ **What a slut. If I were alive, I’d be so ashamed of you.** ” 

He lingers in the corner of his eyelights, always there in his peripheral vision no matter where he looks. He wishes he’d leave him alone. If he weren’t always there, Dust would never think about everything he did in his world. He could be guilt free. 

But he’s always known that actions have consequences. He’s not remorseful, he’s  _ not _ . He killed everyone and he’d do it again and again, just to see their dust floating in the air. Pathetic monsters that are beneath him. Even at 20 HP, he’s superior to them in strength. Killing those who had considered him a friend only proved how powerful he is. 

(But if he thinks hard enough, past the raw feeling of hatred, didn’t he do all of this because he loved them?)

Thinking hurts. He wants to be numb. 

“Put something over my eyes.” 

Horror tilts his head. And then he...tears a piece of his t-shirt? With no hesitation or care. Well, at least Horror keeps his laundry done. Dust watches intensely as he bends over his trembling form, and with the care of a person coaxing a frightened animal, he ties the torn shirt over his eye sockets. Everything goes perfectly black. 

“Better?”

Dust nods. “Yes. Please, continue.” 

Horror’s hands are on him, caressing and tracing the bones of his ribcage. Ah, how could he forget? Horror has an odd fatuation with breasts, so he summons a pair of perky tits. Large just the way Horror likes them. Killer had, at one point, convinced him to go to Underfell to get his nipples pierced. 

Horror makes an appreciative noise before going straight for the kill. He pinches his nipples and pulls at the metal studs, eliciting a sharp gasp from him. The piercings make the entire area more sensitive than they ever were before, adding height to the sensation that made nippleplay all the more fun. 

He really owes Killer a drink for his insistence, getting these suckers pierced was the best decision he had ever made. 

One hand stops teasing in order to trail down his summoned body. It makes contact with his dick, the tips of his fingers circling around his cockhead slowly. Dust shudders. 

“Wet.” Horror murmurs, amused. Dust flushes in embarrassment. They’re the same person, Horror’s dick leaks pre-cum just as much as his does. Hypocritical, mean- he moans. Horror has latched a mouth around a pert nipple. He wastes no time in suckling at him, his tongue swirling like it’s a lollipop. 

He doesn’t know what to focus on. The pleasant feeling in his tits, or the way Horror has loosely wrapped his fist around his cock to stroke in time with his powerful sucks. Dust wreaths, overwhelmed by the sensations. Every motion sends sparks straight to his clit, making his cunt ache painfully from the lack of stimulation. 

Too quickly, his hips arch off the bed and cum sprays all over Horror’s fingers. Horror milks every last drop out of him, pumping his cock until Dust lets out a pitiful whimper and angles his hips away. Dust doesn’t see it, but when Horror pulls away from his nipple a string of saliva keeps them connected. 

“Sensitive.” He hums. It’s followed by a slurping noise. Is he licking his fingers clean right now? What a glutton. “You’re pretty when you cum.” 

“Oh yeah?” Dust breathes out. Don’t think about how that compliment made your soul jump, he tells himself. Don’t complicate what you have with him. “Make me cum again. I wouldn’t want you to go without seeing this pretty face of mine, you narcissist.” 

Horror doesn’t respond, but he does press his mouth to Dust’s. Dust conjures his tongue and licks desperately at his teeth, and Horrors wraps around his own. He tastes the saltiness of his own cum. If it were with anyone else, he’d be mortified. But Horror loves putting everything in his mouth, so he takes it in strides and sucks the taste right off his tongue. 

Horror breaks away and licks a path down his body. Dust grips onto the sheets tightly, basking in the sensation of the wet glide gracing his summoned flesh. Horror pushes his legs apart and begins lapping at his inner thigh teasingly. It’s almost...loving. Dust would rather not dwell on that line of thought. Not tonight, at least.

“Horror, I’m not above begging.” He whines when Horror moves on to the next thigh. Horror acknowledges this with a pat to the outside of his thigh, but he doesn’t cease his slow exploration. It seems that he’s determined to map out his entire body with just his tongue. The scary part about that is Horror one hundred percent has the patience for it. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to resort to disgraceful begging. Horror laps at his clit with kittenish licks, making him sigh with relief. Horror uses one hand to spread him apart, and then uses the other to fondle at his rejuvenated dick. 

“Holy fuck!” He gasps. “Wait, wait, I’m going to-”

His pussy spasms when Horror nibbles at his clit, which in turn causes his cock to release another spurt of cum. He can feel Horror’s grin against his cunt, the cocky bastard. Pun intended. 

“I wonder how many times I can get you to cum.” Horror muses. It’s the longest sentence he’s spoken all day. “I bet you have a few more rounds in you.”

Dust bets not. Already, exhaustion is seeping into his body. “Just fuck me already!” He demands, grinding his hips against his face almost punishingly. “I needed your cock like, an hour ago. Come on big guy, give it to me.” 

He thanks the stars above when Horror obliges. He feels Horror crawl up his body once more, and the tip of his cock grinds against his sensitive entrance. He’s bigger than anyone else in their little group, in every way  _ including  _ his cock. The first time he ever took it he had been intimidated, but now he craves it like a drug.

It slides in smoothly. They both groan in unison. The sensation borders on too much after cumming so soon, and it’s almost painful when Horror begins to rock his hips into him. But he fills him up so nicely. Better than anyone else he’s ever had before. It’s like his cock was made just for him. 

Dust hooks his legs around Horror’s waist and urges him closer. Horror grunts, his thrusts getting sloppier with every slick slide in and out of his aching pussy. He bends down and envelopes Dust’s entire body with his own, his arms caging around his skull as he presses their foreheads together. 

It’s sweaty and hot and claustrophobic, but Dust wouldn’t have it any other way.

“So perfect.” Horror mumbles. His dick twitches inside of him, a telltale sign of his fastly approaching orgasm. “Perfect for me. Take it so well.”

“ _ Ah _ , fuck! Just for you.” He nuzzles him. Heat begins to coil in his stomach. “Fill me up with your jizz, I need to fill it inside me. You can do that for me right? Make me yours big guy.” 

Horror growls. Like, actually  _ growls.  _ It’s a primal sound, like a dog going into a rut. “Already mine.”

And then he cums inside him with thick spurts. It feels like molten lava. Dust rolls his head back and shakes violently as yet another orgasm takes him by shock. He barely registers Horror licking at his throat, all he can think about is the wonderful feeling of that dick filling him to the brim. 

Horror rests his entire weight on him. It seems like the big guy is exhausted, too. 

“Better?” He asks breathlessly.

Dust can’t do anything but nod. He’d lay there forever, if he could. But Horror insists they clean up. It’s unsanitary to sleep with jizz inside you, or something like that. Dust hardly cares about being hygienic when he’s close to passing out, but even he has to admit that it’s nice going to bed feeling cleaned and refreshed. 

He barely even has to lift a finger, either. Horror takes off his make-shift blindfold and wipes him down thoroughly with a warm, wet rag. Not-Papyrus isn’t even around to mock and belittle him tonight, meaning he’ll sleep better than usual. 

Yet...even after Horror has crawled into bed next to him, he fails to fall asleep. His thoughts are all over the place, which in turn makes him restless. By the third time he turns to find a better position, Horror has had enough. He pulls him into his arms and holds him protectively from behind. 

“Sleep.” He urges. 

“I can’t.” Dust bemoans his insomnia. Not even three orgasms can make him sleep? Ridiculous!

“...Would it help if I read to you?” 

Dust freezes. 

(A tiny skeleton. In his hands, a book. How could he kill his baby? Sick. Disgusting.  _ Freak _ .)

“...Okay. Do you...do you, uh, remember the books you read to your Paps?” Horror’s memory is a hit or miss at times, but the skeleton nods. 

“Could never forget.”

Yeah, well. Neither could he. It’s turning him soft. Horror begins to tell the story of Fluffy Bunny from memory, his voice a steady and soothing drone. Dust clings to it, and selfishly he wishes this moment would never end. 

He falls asleep not too long after, and he dreams of blissful nothingness. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter is @ snasational


End file.
